"I'm doing my essay here." Stiles announced as he slammed open the door to Peter's apartment, lazily throwing a hand behind him to ward the door against unwanted guests. The pack had the irritating habit of wandering into other's apartments, even Peter's. Said wolf stood frozen in the kitchen as the wards that had been painted there last month flared to full strength once again, By the time that the flash of light had faded and he could look away, Stiles had dumped his stuff on the sofa and start settling in the space between the sofa on the coffee table. It had been at least 3 months since Stiles had last been here for anything other than ward maintenance. He was a quick study and his history of researching everything and anything had helped as he already had a basic understanding when his powers had come to fruition.
"What?" was all he could say in a flat voice. He smelt the slight burning smell of his eggs and quickly turned back to his omelet. Yes, his den had been invaded, but there was no need for a perfectly good breakfast to go to waste.
"Ancient history is kicking my ass and you're going to help me. Eat your omelette and get over and help." Stiles said, slouching over his notes and books, his pen already being chewed and his shirt pulling over his shoulders. He seemed at home here, even as Peters mental pack bond was tugging at him, telling him packhomesafe was there with him. He barely felt that with his own flesh and blood nephew, let alone Stiles.
Peter just blinked at the young man in his lounge, hair all fluffed up from hands pulling through it over and over again. He tried to figure out why this mental pack bond had strengthened to this strength when they had barely seen each other the last month. Stiles' lanky legs barely fit under the table and every time his leg jiggled, it hit the underside lightly, but it seemed the college boy couldn't stop his jittering despite the discomfort hitting his knee must have caused. A subtle sniff and caffeine assaulted his sense. Coffee junkie, sighed Peter internally. A quick mental calculation and he realized midterms must be here for the student. No wonder he hadn't seen him as much at the (insipid, irritating) pack bonding nights everyone was stuck going to. Peter sighed audibly this time and rolled his eyes. Might as well abide by the brats instructions (they were not orders, he refused to think of them as orders) and besides, Peter was an excellent cook and there was no point ruining his breakfast.
Plating up his food and grabbing a freshly squeezed orange juice, Peter settled in the kitchen breakfast bar. Nothing but the best, he had taste after all. Unlike his nephew. Although said nephew was starting to get a handle of the whole Alpha mess. A True Alpha and an Alpha were a bit convoluted in terms of pack at the beginning but they got a handle on it. Scott had gone off to college with whichever girl he was currently swooning over. Peter had lost track if he was honest, though the Argent girl was still around at the bonding nights. The smell of wolfsbane and gunpowder always tickled his nose and made his control crack ever so slightly. Derek had stayed for the land and had started the reconstruction of his family home, the old charred remains finally torn down. Whereas Peter wanted away from the burnt memories of his husband and child, so the open plan of his apartment meant there was nowhere for people to hide and was a far cry from the grandeur that had been the Hale House. He might be better with people, but he wasn't stupid and was still highly paranoid. He was a manipulator and easy to hate. He wasn't taking chances again. He slowly at his eggs, which were of course, delicious, if slightly over-cooked, and stared at the barely adult chewing on a highlighter and scribbling notes in the text book in biro.
"Stop staring Zombie-wolf and get over here and teach me," muttered Stiles. A flash of amber in his eyes and Peters barely finished plate zoomed over to the sink, clinking safely and unbroken there. Many a plate had been destroyed by the lack of stoppage when Stiles did that without thinking in the beginning. Derek had ended buying in bulk and hoping Stiles got control over himself soon. The pandemonium when the witch had broken Stiles carefully placed barriers on his Spark had been epic and catastrophic. There was a reason his mother restricted him until he was more stable. Sadly, she never got to remove it and well... That part of the forest was still charred and heavy with raw magic 6 months later. They never did find all the chunks of the blown up and basically atomized witch…
Peter just sat and sipped his drink as he watched Stiles scratch away at his paper, watching in fascination as Stiles snatched a floating highlighter out of the eye without blinking to highlight something and to then place it back in the air. All the while, his leg kept jiggling and to chew yet another pen in his mouth. It was a picture of still movement, magic and mundane all meshed together and even in the 6 months of ever more frequent "hang outs" it still fascinated Peter to watch the perpetual motion that is Stiles. He would have made a wonderful wolf, Peter thought not for the first time. Though, perhaps it's for the better he refused.
The mild daydream of a wolf with Stiles brains and recklessness was enough of a distraction for Peter to miss the white projectile until it hit his nose. He looked down in shock as the paper ball bounced on the table. What.
"Did you just throw a paper ball at me?" Peter asked, no emotion in his voice. It honestly astounded him sometimes how wonderful lacking the brat was at self preservation, even before he had at least some protection at his disposal. He was in Peter's den, the man who had terrorized and murdered his hometown, who raised himself from the dead and single handedly managed to manipulate and cause the idiotic, so-called "pack" to form a better defense around the hell hole that is Beacon Hills, all without alerting anyone to his mechanisms other the wonderful banshee that is Miss Martin and the insufferable brat who was currently levitating 2 more paper balls to use as ammunition. His temper was still hard to handle and he felt his control slipping, as was normal around the annoying brat.
"You're being a pretentious wanker. Get over here," murmured Stiles, trailing off as he found a particularly difficult to translate bit.
"You threw a paper ball at me," Peter remarked, slithering quietly to his feet from his bar stool. His mind had gone blank like it does when his temper broke. "I'm dangerous," he breathed, a bare hint of a growl under his words. The damn brat always knew how to get under his skin and at the time, Peter wasn't really thinking straight. The morning had thrown him off and his mental discipline was always lacking in the mornings anyway. He had left bits behind when he had died and was slowly learning how to get them back again, but... He still slipped up.
"As am I," Stiles muttered, his focus solely on the lengthy text in front of him.
"I could tear you to shreds," his words were starting to be distorted by his fangs sliding out of his gums, his temper frayed and extremely hard to hold onto, fingertips were barely touching it at this point.
Stiles just kept worked on his homework on the coffee table, his back to Peter. "No more than a well trained feral cat could."
Peters growling revved up another notch, his feet silent as he stalked closer to the young man. "I am a Hunter."
Still mostly ignoring him, Stiles murmured "And yet, I am not Prey."
"I'm a killing machine, a werewolf," Peter stalked even closer, his eyes glowing and his claws starting to slip past his non-existent control.
Sigh, Stiles turned towards him slightly, a mocking look in his eye as he stretched his neck out, getting a kink out of it with a loud crack. "You're an idiot."
"I should have killed you when you were teenager." Peter breathed, bending down to be right in Stiles face. Lie. That would have been no fun. "I could have killed you." Liar. Peter could have no more killed Stiles now than he could have then. He was too much entertainment.
Stiles raised his eyebrow, a sardonic look on his face. "So could a determined duck. You're not special. Now sit down and help me with this damn Latin translation, Doctor Hale. You're supposed to be good at this stuff."
Peter tried to hold his glare and stare the boy down, but… Stiles had seen too much in too short a time to be intimidated by a grouchy wolf having a temper tantrum. Especially as Stiles was getting really good at controlling his Sparks flare ups. Working with a flare up of magic, he pushed and pulled and then a sharp tug was felt on Peter's belt, dragging his ass to the sofa. Another ball flew at his head while he was still glaring at Stiles, this time bouncing off his temple. Peter couldn't help the twitch of his mouth, his unstable mood settling back to acerbic humor.
"... Latin?" He finally purred out, back to his sardonic teasing self, temper faded as quickly as it flared.
"Latin." The self satisfied tone of voice was enough to make Peter roll his eyes as he leaned forward over the younger's shoulder. If he managed to scent mark the brat, well he needed to read the book after all.